Memories Once
by Secret Symphony
Summary: Five: Edward knew how he would die. A series of drabbles focusing on the moments that have made the characters who they were, are, and will be. Mostly Resembool Trio centered. Suggestions are love!
1. The Coat

**Author's Note: I tried to convince Ed that I owned him once. Let's just say that his answer wasn't exactly an affirmative.**

**Anyway, Ed's grumpiness aside, _Memories Once_ is more or less a collection of any one-shots or drabbles that I churn out. It should be more anime numero uno focused, but we'll see--I'm open to requests and any critique you might have. **

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**_The Coat_**

Drool embraced paper. Ink kissed skin. It was late, the sky a stretch of charcoal just outside the window, as the oldest Elric snored contentedly into his research papers.

Alphonse peeked up from his book. A fabric waterfall of red on the back of his chair, Edward slept beneath a swamp of tattered black and leather. He was so different when he fell into exhaust, an aberration from his usual petulant persona, that Alphonse couldn't help but close his book and stare. Usually Edward sleep-talked at his nightmares, broke into sweat, and struggled against imagined torments and tangled sheets, so it always came as a surprise when he slept in peace.

Alphonse set his book aside and watched Edward breathe. Time ticked by; the twelve-year-old alchemist's small back limped like a weary soldier.

They had set to studying two days earlier. Mustang gave the State's prodigy a few days off between missions while he invested Edward's unearthed corruption at an eastern mining town. Edward had darted from the office, either ignoring or unable to hear the Lieutenant Colonel's order for a written report, an apologizing Alphonse clanking behind him. Edward was fresh into the military and, though he hated the leash, his eyes gleamed, his grin was infectious, and his words eager as, for the first time, the doors of Central's very best library opened before them.

No questions were required after the reveal of a silver watch. There was the expected disbelief and awe, a few comments on Fullmetal's youth, and the usual rant brought about by a height joke, but they were let in nonetheless.

The library seemed more labyrinth than anything. The Elric brothers had glanced at each other. A grin attempted to cover the unease on Edward's face and Alphonse played along with an encouraging nod. The greatest library in all of Amestris was bound to have leads, right?

Edward's grin fell into a serious line. He looked at Alphonse for one long moment before he presented his little brother a promise.

"_Listen, we'll find it,"_ he said as gold met iron, boy soldier changing back into brother, _"and you'll be back to your old, pudgy, shorter-than-me self soon, Al. I promise."_

Alphonse nodded, choosing to ignore his brother's height comment but wishing he could smile all the same. He scooped up his words and molded a promise of his own instead.

"Of course_, Brother, but only if you're whole again too."_

Again, a grin.

"_Of course, Al--let's just hope that Auntie and Winry don't mind losing their favorite cash cow too much."_

And so began their ritual of researching. For two days they fell into catatonic concentration and an inability to quarantine an infecting optimism. Since Edward slept little, ate little and Alphonse couldn't, they were largely undisturbed while the brothers cultivated a growing tower of crumpled papers and discarded books. If Edward's collapsed, exhausted state indicated anything, Alphonse guessed their research had taken a toll on the elder Elric.

Alphonse stood and approached the desk as quiet as a hulking suit of armor could.

Edward held a pen poised for writing. The old texts and scrolls around him curled with yellowing age but sodden with drool. Alphonse leaned down to get a better look at his brother's face, regretting it almost instantly. He looked so tired, so aged that Alphonse had trouble remembering the troublemaker that had been double-dog dared into stealing Winry's wrench by Pitt, the boy who made faces across the table when Alphonse drank his milk, the big brother that shared his nights with his little brother as they planned for an impossible future. Alphonse looked at his brother and knew that if he had his body back, he'd be crying.

Edward shivered. All too happy for the reprieve from his thoughts, Alphonse reached for the waterfall of red fabric, careful not to wake his brother, and stopped.

Alphonse studied the coat. It was too long—though Edward would rave against such insinuations, making a point that he'd grow into it—and too gaudy for anyone but his brother. Their insignia twisted into the crimson threads, hailing memories of Teacher and their later resolve to move forward. Unconsciously, the younger alchemist's grip tightened. Rips and tears and stains met the fabric like old friends, which wouldn't have bothered Alphonse in other circumstances—Edward was notorious for returning home with his clothes decimated and a grin splitting his face—but his coat showed the result of their quest. It wasn't an adventure game played on the hills of Resembool. It was their life until they found what they were looking for.

Alphonse gave the semblance of a sigh; the coat had been worn for under a year.

Already, the brothers had left their home in embers and ashes, survived a serial killer, toppled a tyranny in a mining town, and much more. Places were saved—salvation brought by a clap of the hands or a circle in the dirt—and people were thankful. Mostly. But, even with all the good they were doing, Alphonse couldn't help but think about their salvation.

"_We'll find it."_

Alphonse gripped the coat tighter, his thumb digging into one particularly large spot, wishing that morning would come to eat away the silence and return Edward to his loud, determined self.

"_I promise."_

Edward shivered again and wriggled inward. With his attention diverted, Alphonse's death-grip loosened. He eyed the crimson cloth and what it represented warily, noting again how ragged it looked. If it weren't for alchemy, the coat would have long been deemed irreparable. If it weren't for Alphonse's suggestions, the darn thing would never get cleaned. Shaking his head quietly as possible, Alphonse draped his brother in the dirty, travel-worn coat, promising to smile again someday as Edward curled into it, the ghost of a grin playing at his lips.


	2. Orphan

**I can't decide if this one leaves a bad taste in my mouth or not. Grawr. I almost hate BONEs sometimes.**

**Anyway, I've never actually written Winry before, so tell me whether she's in-character with all she's going through... and Ed too. I'm open to any critique you have though, just no flames. Roy's not in this chapter. ;)**

**Also, WARNING: Below lies extreme moodiness a la young Ed and Winry! Ye've been warned!**

**Disclaimer: Whenever I make bets with the Fullmetal Alchemist over ownership rights, he cheats. So, for now, consider FMA disclaimed.**

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**_Orphan_**

It was a warm afternoon in Resembool when Winry met Ed and Al halfway between their houses. They dropped their stuff below their tree and settled into the familiar routine of books and games and badinage. When Miss Trisha called for snacks, Al ran off, promising to return with drinks and brownies. Ed's stomach growled and, since Winry was busy staring off in the opposite direction again, he looked to his book for a distraction.

Ed was busy cursing and trying to pry two pages apart when he heard it—a sniffle. Tensing, he glanced over at his friend. Winry was slumped against their tree, eyes shiny, a string of snot swinging in the breeze. Al had just left to get some snacks, and now she looked on the verge of a crybaby attack. Ed looked around for an escape route.

While Ed was used to Winry's usual bouts of tears, she was beginning to worry him. Her crying had changed since that soldier arrived two weeks ago with a letter and an apology, and Ed still wasn't sure how to comfort her. He'd tried, of course. Many times. But even Al couldn't calm Winry down lately. She once cried so bad that Ed ran all the way home and grabbed his mom, frantic for her to help them. Neither brother knew what to do when Winry got like that.

Ed scanned futilely for Al before he turned back to Winry and gulped. He was stuck, and even if he did find an escape route, he couldn't just leave her. He did wish that his stomach would stop squirming and go back to growling at him though. He could handle hunger better than an upset Winry, toolbox or no.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Ed asked as he pushed his book aside. He wasn't sure if asking was a good idea, but that's what Al would have done. Repeatedly. He tried smiling too. Smiling was good. Smiling could be contagious with Winry, even if it hurt his face in the process.

"…Do you know what an 'orphan' is?" She didn't look at him, just bit her lip and blinked a few times. Ed blinked too.

"Yeah… why?" Of course Ed knew what 'orphan' meant. The Ishval war had seen to that.

Winry looked at him incredulously. Ed wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not, but he couldn't see any tears. He ran a hand through his bangs and hoped he was grinning.

"I'm an orphan, Ed. The Taylor boys said so. And they're right." She kicked at a twig and slumped further down the tree. Ed had the sudden urge to punch the idiot twins, but decided that he could do that later when Winry's eyes weren't as puffy.

"You're not an orphan." Ed said, moving closer to Winry. "Not really." Should he put a hand on her shoulder? Give her a hug? Tell her to wipe her nose? Ed fidgeted slightly when she looked up at him, eyes red and blue and full of tears. He gulped, shoulders tense. Al was always better at these kinds of things. What was taking him so long to get back anyway?

"Ed," Winry frowned, "are you sure you know what 'orphan' means?"

"Yeah, I do! It means that you're all on your own, right? Means you got no family and…" He trailed off at the look Winry gave him. Ed knew that description was technically accurate, but it didn't fit. This was Winry—hotheaded, gear-crazed, giving Winry—and even when his mom had buttoned his suit and held his hand as he watched his friend cry and cry and cry, Ed didn't associate Winry with 'orphan'. He couldn't. Didn't she see that? He ran a hand through his bangs and tried again, "Winry—"

She turned to glare at him.

"Mom and Dad are dead! Don't you get it? They're dead and they're never coming back! They were g-gone for so long but they promised an-and the Taylors were right—I don't have a family!" Winry stormed, her small, pudgy body tensing, fists clenching. Saltwater dripped from her cheeks.

Ed was scared. She was crashing from bad to worst fast, too fast. He felt lost. It was as if someone had torn away the casing to expose her insides—twisted, sparking wires and broken joints—and left him with a girl he couldn't fix.

"That's what it means to be an orphan, you idiot!"

"'I-idiot'?" Ed echoed. His eyebrows shot down and he leaned forward so that Winry had no choice but to look at him. "Dammit, Win, I am not an idiot! If anyone's an idiot it's you for believing that crap! I'm the one smart enough to know better! You've got a family! You've got Den and Granny and Al and me and all those stupid tools you like to throw at my head!" His voice broke; his face burned. Ed was suddenly very glad for the breeze and cool green grass. He was glad for the stunned look that his neighbor gave him, figuring that if she was looking at him like he'd just sprung another head then she probably wasn't thinking about tearing up again. He leaned back but kept his gaze steady. "Win, no matter what any idiots tell you, you are not alone. You'll never be alone. In fact, you'll be so un-alone that you'll be sick of it!"

She watched him for a moment, sniffling but not crying. Ed really wished she'd get a tissue. That snot was distracting. Maybe he'd transmute her one if Al brought any chalk back.

"'Un-alone'?" She asked, lips quirking at the edges. Ed nodded slowly. That had worked? Was yelling and bad grammar the key? Eyebrows knit, he smiled a little as relief flooded him.

"Yup, and we'll be around so much you'll get sick of it! So stop being a crybaby and cheer up or I'm going to eat all of the brownies when Al gets back."

"You were going to do that anyways, Ed."

"Shush! I'm trying to bribe you," Ed laughed. "If you want a brownie, smile."

And she did.

And two days after Al returned with their snacks and Winry dried her eyes, Ed caught Tommy and Rudy Taylor outside the barber shop. When Al asked his brother why he resembled the Jefferson's pigsty, Ed only grinned and said something about divine justice. Al decided to ask Winry instead. He wasn't sure, after all, if what Ed had was catching.


	3. Gone

**I can't seem to write anything longer than a page lately, so here's an honest-to-god, 100 word drabble. :) Also, rereading _Orphan_, I feel like I've read that ending elsewhere. Has anyone seen something similar, or am I just paranoid?**

**Disclaimer: Still suck at poker, still don't own FMA. It's a vicious, vicious cycle.**

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**_Gone_**

Edward doesn't know what to do other than scream, scream, scream until his lungs give out and his head hits the floor, leaving him suddenly eyelevel with that _thing_. He doesn't know what to do about it—the monster meant to be their mother—other than lose his stomach and grab at where his leg should be. He doesn't know why he's alone, where his family has gone, or why that thing is reaching toward him, a cry cutting its throat.

All Edward knows is that playing God got him into this—

—and that it just might get him out.


	4. It Hurts

**This may end up in a longer fanfic, but first I need time and guts to do so. Writing this made my chest ache, but I love the story, so we'll see.**

**Disclaimer: No.**

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_**It Hurts…**_

"Kill me."

Its words were not an order. They were soft, an entreaty for the golden eyed boy with the limp, lacerated auto-mail and bruised face, and they were desperate.

The boy's eyes were wide and, with their own kind of desperateness, fixated on the creature in the cage nearest him. The beast was a mismatched monstrosity—claws for hands, hooves for feet, a gaping, slackened maw full up with too many teeth, gray skin, scales, sunken eyes a brilliant blue—but, Edward knew, human.

"Kill…?" Edward breathed. He was sick and near-starving by this point in his capture, but now a new nausea made his throat tight, made his beaten but resilient morals cringe. It had only been a few months since he had stared into another pair of eyes begging a different question of _want to play, little big brother?_, eyes that had been blown away because he couldn't, wouldn't help, eyes that had unknowingly secured his incarceration beneath Central City.

"Please," the chimera pressed its head against the bars, "please, please. I hurt. I hurt so much. They like hurt. Return soon. Please." Edward closed his eyes hard, but couldn't shut his ears against the garbled voice of what had once been a child. He swallowed. He clenched his fist against his forehead and gritted his teeth. He damned the scientists, the murdering men and women who were responsible for this nightmare. He looked at it—at _her_—and felt his eyes sting.

With a rough wipe of his eyes, Edward moved before her cage, gold locking on blue, and tried to breathe in spite of the stench. Every inch of him hurt. But here, closer to the chimera in the dim laboratory light, he could now make out the raw patches of rot and the odd bend of her joints, and he squashed his self-pity with a vengeance.

Edward's left hand met his right. The boy reached between the bars until his palm met her fevered forehead. Somewhere in the back of his blackened mind, he considered praying. Somewhere in the black shadows of the room, something cackled madly above the usual growls and screams. Edward stiffened.

The chimera nudged him lightly, tenderly. Edward gave a shuddering breath, closed his eyes, but did not retrieve his hand.

"I'm sorry."


	5. Knowing

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Disclaimer: FMA is Arakawa's plaything, I'm just borrowing. I'll put it back when I'm done. Promise. :P

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_**Knowing**_

Edward knows how he will die.

He's known since tangles of black hands crept across his disintegrating body, pulling him apart and past screeching doors into Truth, cramming his cranium full until he cried for cessation.

He's known since the armor moved, soul fire eyes taking in empty clothes and pools of red, and echoed out, _Brother… Why? No! How did this happen? How did this _happen_?_

He's known with every sharpening of his arm into a blade, hurtling toward every odd and adversary, reckless and brave because his end was not aboard a train or at the hands of monsters in human form.

They call him a genius, a prodigy. Edward grimaces at this. It is neither his knowledge nor his choice. Sure, Edward knows a lot of things. He can calculate complex computations in his head and create the perfect stew, but there is also a deeper knowing that he has gained against his will.

He recognizes Rose before she greets them, understands the laugh that is immortality, knows knows knows too much for a boy of twelve—

—except another way.

So when he sees Al watching the stars, their latest red herring left behind them, he turns, grinning at his baby brother, and says, "We'll find it, Al. We'll get your body back. I promise."

Because Edward knows. He just wishes he'd be there to see it.


End file.
